


Five Times Sammy Lost His Voice

by neversaydie



Series: Kink Falls AM [5]
Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: 5 Times, Acephobia, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Drunk Blow Jobs, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluffy Ending, Grey-A, Internalized Acephobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Public Blow Jobs, Self-Esteem Issues, grey-ace sammy, sammy vs his self esteem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 21:52:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14656956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neversaydie/pseuds/neversaydie
Summary: Five times Sammy lost his voice giving blowjobs.And one time he got it back.[in which there's far more exploration of Sammy's relationship with his grey-asexuality than actual smut.]





	Five Times Sammy Lost His Voice

**Author's Note:**

> TW: dub-con warning for drunk Sammy in pt 2, and ace-shaming dub-con in pt 3.

**1**

"Sorry," Sam coughs into his sleeve awkwardly, the taste of come sour and sharp in his mouth and gritty throat as Eric leans against the bathroom stall and his skinny chest heaves with exertion. 

Sam's never tasted a dick before. Or, well, any part of anyone else's body before. He'd kissed a few girls in high school - platonic, sexless lip-locks of obligation which left both of them equally confused and disappointed and overall thankful when they were over. 

He'd kissed a boy from another high school once - shut in a strange bedroom (a closet in a bedroom perhaps? ironically) at a house party - and then punched him immediately afterwards in case he decided to tell anyone. It's one of the moments that keep Sam up at night, breaking into a cold sweat over being an asshole and being found out. 

This isn't anything like those times. 

"S'okay," Eric pets his short hair clumsily but affectionately, not seeming to mind the wax which keeps it in some sort of messy order. Sam finds himself turning his face into the touch when Eric's vaguely sticky hand reaches his cheek, because somehow that little show of affection hits him harder than the thin, reedy orgasm he'd managed earlier. "That was awesome Sammy, holy shit."

Nobody's ever called him Sammy before. He leans his head on Eric's thigh and thinks about how he likes the way it sounds.   
  
  


**2**

He can't see straight - 

Hah, straight. 

\- but he's pretty sure it's still the same two guys who were there earlier. He'd been making out with just the one, he's fairly certain, but the second one had appeared as they'd stumbled out of the club to the alley. Not the one the smokers use - the one far away from the main road, unofficially reserved for pissing and other, more sordid, activities. 

Sammy's quite… quite drunk. And by quite, he means he's not sure if his last jagerbomb was his fourth or fifth. A few drinks make it easier to talk to guys who potentially want to fuck him, especially when he's in one of his weird phases of not wanting to have sex (which are wrong and unsettling and at least if he's drunk he has an excuse for why his dick doesn't work), but lately he's been accidentally going beyond dutch courage and all the way towards obliterated.

At least the blackouts make the guilt easier, even if he does wake up wondering why he has such a sore throat in the morning. 

So anyway, he thinks these are the same two guys. He only intended to suck off one, but he's fairly sure the second one got involved at some point if the rawness of his throat is anything to go by. His jeans are damp and sore at the knees and he really hopes the puddle he's kneeling in isn't piss as his head stops spinning just enough for him to hear what they're saying above him. 

He has his cheek resting against one guy's thigh and their hand is resting on his greasy hair (he's maybe in a bit of a spiral right now and not doing a lot to take care of himself, maybe his friends Jack and Lily are right and he should slow down a little). That makes the whole thing worth it, somehow. 

"What did he say his name was? Should we put him in a cab?"

"Probably a good idea, not like he can talk right now."

It's a funny joke. Sammy laughs.   
  
  


**3**

Eric has a thing for fucking his throat. 

Sammy doesn't hate it, when he's in the mood, but it pisses him off to be manhandled into hanging off the edge of the bed and lying there passively taking a punishing face-fucking when he's  _ not _ in the mood. 

He's tried, with a clumsy timidness, to explain the fact that he sometimes loves sex and sometimes the idea of being naked near another person repulses him to panic… but his boyfriend didn't really seem to get it. They'd hooked up a couple of times after their first fumbling library dalliance, and their  _ thing  _ became a relationship conveniently around the time Eric needed a new roommate to move into the apartment his parents are paying rent on. And, as Eric was careful to point out, he's the best Sammy's probably going to get - broken as he is. 

Sammy doesn't even understand what his weird non-sex thing is within himself, aside from the source of a whole lot of shame and self-loathing, so he guesses it's stupid to expect Eric to understand when he can barely articulate it. Still, he feels like the kind thing would be to not fuck his face when he's already said he's not feeling it. 

Eric digs fingers into his jaw hard enough to bruise as Sammy chokes and splutters and does his best to swallow as he comes hard. He lets go once he's fully finished, giving Sammy an affectionate pat on the cheek as finally pulls away and leaves his boyfriend hurrying to sit up on the mattress, clearing his throat and swiping angrily at his streaming eyes. 

It hadn't been a fight to get him to lie back and open his mouth after his verbal protest had been ignored, but it hadn't been Sammy's idea of a good time either. It was just easier to get it over with than try to argue. 

"I said I wasn't in the mood, you asshole," Sammy croaks, cheeks flushing at how hoarse he sounds. He scrubs his sleeve over his mouth, instantly regretting the scrape on his raw lips. 

"You didn't bite my dick off though, did you?" Eric snorts, amused, and grabs Sammy's jaw again to angle him up for a kiss. Sammy doesn't kiss him back, but he doesn't pull away either. And doesn't that just sum them up. 

He knows  _ he's  _ the weird one here, and he'll forget about this soon enough. A sore throat is the least of his problems. 

  
  


**4**

"Hey."

Jack gently cups Sammy's jaw and urges him to move back, to pull off where he's giving one of his more earnest but probably sloppier blowjobs. 

They haven't been doing this for long - it's been a matter of weeks since they realised their relationship hasn't been purely platonic for at least a couple of years and they should probably try actually dating instead of just being awkward around each other - and Sammy has a moment of intense anxiety as he pulls off Jack's dick with a wet pop. 

What if he's doing something  _ wrong  _ again? What if he's fucking this up  _ again _ ?

"Hey, don't look so worried," Jack strokes a thumb over his cheekbone, and Sammy has learned not to move into the touch but  _ fuck  _ if he doesn't want to when Jack seems so solid, so genuine as he smiles at him. "You just… is this okay?"

"I'm fine," Sammy says, automatically, and something in Jack's eyes says he knows him well enough to know it's a purely instinctual response. 

"Because if it wasn't, you know that'd be okay… right?" Jack's one of the few people Sammy's tried to ramble his way around his on-again off-again relationship with sex to, and even though it was before they got together he doesn't seem to have forgotten a thing. Not if the way he's being so careful with Sammy is anything to go by. "You know we can take this slow, babe."

Sammy's ears go a little pink at that, because Jack calling him  _ babe  _ is still new enough to make the perpetual twist in his stomach feel more like butterflies than anxiety, and he turns his face to kiss Jack's palm despite the fact his lips are shiny with spit.

"S'okay, I want to," he licks his lips and shoots Jack a dirty grin - satisfied with the fact  _ he  _ can cause a blush as well - and dives back in. 

He can hardly talk by the time he's done, but Jack passed out on the couch in a sex coma is more than worth it.   
  
  


**5**

"Woah, easy," Ron pushes him back by the shoulder, and Sammy has to fight the urge to whine at the loss of contact. 

He just wants to _feel_ something. It's been nearly two weeks since the 'who is Sammy Stevens' bullshit, weeks since he started whatever the fuck this _thing_ is with Ron, and Sammy is desperate for something, anything, to give. 

Ben, in his determined attempts to apologise while Sammy freezes him out, hasn't mentioned the state of him - the hangovers, the bite marks evident on his neck, the cracking voice. It's a courtesy, he supposes, to not spread his personal life all over the airwaves - especially when it's messy and suggests that he might actually  _ have _ a personal life, rather than be the sexless pseudo-father figure his image has become - but somehow that pisses Sammy off more.    
  
Part of him wants Ben to say something. Wants Ben to notice he's marked up and tattered and kind of broken, because  _ this _ is Sammy Stevens. Not the consummate professional, not the radio personality, not the fucking dad friend. The mess - that's all he's ever been.

"Hey," Ron taps him gently on the cheek, just two fingers to get his attention where he's drifting out of his head, and Sammy really doesn't need to hear it right now. "You sure you're okay to-"

"Please," Sammy shoves his hips back against the wall, because what he  _ needs  _ right now is to gag himself on Ron's dick until Ben (the listeners, Troy, anyone) can't ignore how rough his voice is tomorrow. Can't  _ ignore  _ how he's breaking from the inside out. "Please, Ron."

Ron lets him take what he needs, but Sammy doesn't feel any less hollow for it.    
  
  


**+1**

For the first time in years, Sammy appreciates lazy Sundays. He used to hate not having anything to do, nothing to focus on but his own inner turmoil… but that isn't exactly the case anymore. 

"Babe,  _ babe _ ," Jack's laughing as he pushes Sammy's head away, legs twitching from the overstimulation of having just come. Sammy playfully dips his head again, and Jack nearly kicks him off the bed when he jerks at the feeling. "You bring me back just to try and kill me?"

"Don't joke about that, dumbass," Sammy snorts and crawls up the bed, bringing the kicked-off covers with him. Jack is still skinner than usual post-void, and the shivers can come out of nowhere, so he figures an extra blanket as well as his own body heat can't hurt. "Was that okay?"

His voice is rough enough that Ben (and probably Ron, if he calls in) is going to make a series of extremely unsubtle blowjob jokes on air tonight. 

And honestly, Sammy thinks the mocking is entirely worth it. 

"Uh, I can't feel my legs. Does that answer your question?" Jack tucks his sharp chin into Sammy's shoulder, just giving his fiance's dick an affectionate squeeze when he finds it's not hard. "You good?"

"Yeah," Sammy takes advantage of their new size difference (it won't last long with the way Jack's eating them out of house and home, but it's nice to be the strong one in the relationship for a while) and manhandles Jack to lie on top of him. "Wouldn't say no to some smooching, though."

"Smooching? Lemme just make a note so I can add that to Ben's list of your dad-cabulary," Jack pretends to reach for his phone on the nightstand, and Sammy drags him into a kiss to delay the inevitable roasting… if only for a little while. 

Things are settled for him now, both inside and out. His periods of asexuality don't bother him anymore, not now he's got the language to explain that he's not somehow failing (his freak out about still being 'broken' - despite the fact Jack was back and he didn't hate himself for being gay anymore - ended up being solved by Ben's extremely competent google-fu and a serious pep talk from his tiny friend… along with sticking with the therapist he's been seeing since he tried to leave King Falls). He's now confident enough in himself to give and receive sex (or not) on his own terms, which his fiance is  _ very  _ on board with.

Especially when his body manages to surprise him… because when did he ever know what it was doing, anyway?

"Oh," Jack breaks the kiss and raises his eyebrows playfully when he feels Sammy's dick twitch against his thigh. "Hello."

"Shh, you'll scare it away," Sammy whispers conspiratorially, with the kind of seriousness he can only achieve while not being serious at all, before Jack smothers his giggles with his mouth. It's a beautiful day outside, but it doesn't look like they're going anywhere soon.

Yeah, Sammy could get used to lazy Sundays. 


End file.
